


Late Night At The Office

by yellowbessie



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowbessie/pseuds/yellowbessie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember that late night office breakdown scene from Season 1?<br/>Poor Hardy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night At The Office

Alec Hardy’s been staring at the same page for the past five minutes. It’s useless. He’s exhausted, and the words are no longer registering.

Frustrated, he swipes off his glasses and rubs his face. The pressure feels good against his tired, itchy eyes, but stubble bristles against his palm. He should really get around to shaving, sometime…

Questions swirl in his head. _Where was Danny’s skateboard? Why did he have that much money stashed under his bed? Was he meeting someone the night he died? If so, who?  
_ Most importantly: _Are children in Broadchurch safe?_  
All the evidence points to an inexperienced killer. Someone who knew Danny and had acted in the moment. But, there’s always the possibility…

No! Hardy can’t think of that now. He’s weighed down with too much guilt, already.

He needs a break.

What he _really needs_ , is to talk to his daughter. Just a few words, to hear her voice and know she’s safe.

Hardy pulls up her number on his mobile, but his finger pauses to hover over “Call.” She won’t answer. He knows. He’s tried.   
And, while he understands why she doesn’t want to talk to him - why she’s not ready to forgive him - it hurts.

Sighing, he brings up the voicemail, instead. There’s a message there, left in limbo. He hadn’t intentionally saved it, but hadn’t deleted it either. The phone just filed it away.

Her voice comes through, and he can hear her tongue-touched smile (the one she always used when teasing him).

_“Hi dad. Or should I say, ‘old man.” Happy birthday! We’ve got cake. Come home at a reasonable hour, and we’ll even let you have some. Okay? Hope to see you soon.“_

Hardy hangs up, and sags back in the chair, surrendering to the memories. The normally bustling office is dark and silent. He doesn’t dare breathe for fear of breaking the stillness.

Down the hall, the station door clangs open and quick steps echo down the corridor. A harried DS (Hardy forgets her name) rummages through her desk and quickly retrieves whatever she’d left behind. Turning to leave, she startles when she spots him.

"Still here, sir? It’s late. You should be off home.”

Home. The vise around his heart squeezes impossibly tighter.

Hardy thinks of the open suitcase on the floor. The scratchy hotel towels and slippery polyester bedding. The horrid colour scheme. The harsh lighting. The small room that’s alternately echoingly silent, or full of muffled voices bleeding through the walls.

“Aye,” he agrees, sadly.   
It’s a whisper, a sigh, a plea for something he may never have again: “Home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, desperation for more Alec Hardy and Broadchurch fic has made me write some.  
> Damn you Grumpy Beanstalk!


End file.
